The Duel
by Richard Beckett
Summary: We never really find what happens between Thresh and Cato, when they face off in the 74th Hunger Games.  This is my 1st- person account of the events!


Okay guys, this is my first fanfiction piece! It is my version of how Cato manages to defeat Thresh in the 74th Hunger Games, when Katniss and Peeta are holed up in their cave. You probably already know this, but just to be sure, I am not Suzanne Collins, I do not own the Hunger games, blah blah blah, etcetera etcetera. Enjoy!

Thresh's P.O.V.

Running. Always running. The marshy ground sucks at my feet, its rotting smell released with each footfall. But in my weeks, living here in the fens, the smell has become a comfort. When it is there, I know that this is my territory, my home field, and nobody can defeat me here.

The grass, long golden blades which tower over even my head, crackles and snaps as I run. But above the sound, I try to keep an ear out for the sound of a second person making their way through the brush. Cato. Cato, who has been stalking me since I stole his bag back at the cornucopia. Who has been hunting me through the fens to avenge his district partner. My face, which was almost smiling from the adrenaline shooting through my body, becomes somber. I do not like killing. I can still feel the stone in my hand, crashing through that girl's skull like it was a flimsy cracker and then the horrible squish as it met the gray flesh beneath. Whenever I think of it, I have to fight hard to hold down my lunch. I fiercely clamp the thought down, remembering that I did it to save myself and to repay Fire Girl for soothing sweet little Rue in her final moments.

The thought of that little girl, her gossamer wings seeming to carry her across Caesar's stage, almost breaks my concentration. I reach up, wiping away one of many tears I have shed since I learned of her death.

It was almost the last thing I did. The sound of my hand brushing my face, faint as it was, almost managed to obscure the other sound. A faint rustling of the bushes to my right. I get no more warning than that. My hand jumps, reaching for the curved sickle sword at my hip. I barely have time to grasp the handle before Cato crashes out of the reeds, sword gleaming above his head, teeth naked in a feral snarl.

My own sword flashes up, stopping Cato's blade just inches from my scalp. Quickly, I whip my sword around; trying to cut open Cato's left side before he can recover from his original attack. But my opponent has been training all his life for this. Almost contemptuously, he parries the attack before turning and dashing away into the marshes.

I make no effort to follow him. I have learned over the past few days that Cato is far faster than I am. Besides, Cato could easily double around and ambush me again, my own noise obscuring any he might make. No, when we fight, he will be the one to bring it to me. This may be my territory, but within it, I am fighting for my life.

Cato's P.O.V.

_Missed again, damn it!_ I mentally curse myself, lashing out at the prospect of another failed attack. Attack number…what was it? Thirteen? Yes, that was it. The thirteenth time I have fought Thresh, that ox of a tribute, here in these God forsaken marshes. Ambushes, duels, even one formal challenge carved into a stunted, lone hardwood tree. None of them came to anything. We would fight, sometimes for just seconds, sometimes for as long as ten minutes. Eventually, one of us would gain the upper hand. Then, without exception, the weaker one would peel away into the brush and loose his opponent in the twisted labyrinth of fens and waterways, reed beds and claustrophobic thickets that was Thresh's home.

Stalk, fight, flee. Stalk, fight, chase. An endless, hellish cycle.

And there is one more thing, hanging from my leaden mind, which makes this all the more unbearable. Clove. She was once my ally, my lover, and perhaps the only thing to brighten long hours of fruitless hunting. Now, she is a corpse. Beautiful, seductive crow's meat.

I stifle a scream in my shirt, making sure to look like I am just wiping my face. You never know when the cameras are watching, searching for any sign of weakness. Then, after a quick backwards glance, I move on into the thickets.

Camp is quick and dreary. Wet flatbread - it came in my pack, Clove and I were getting pretty hungry after Fire Girl blew up our food - no fire, and to top it all off, even more of that God damn rain. As I gnaw at the half-soaked loaf, I contemplate what can be done to get Thresh to fight me. I _can_ beat him - he's from District 11, damn it! - but how can I get him to actually fight, and not run off like a coward?


End file.
